The Child
by TwoForATable
Summary: AU. Season 3 in my over-imaginitive head. Where Vanessa Ives is the mother of a wonderful little girl, steps up about it and leaves in search of her love, Ethan, in America. Where Vanessa's love, Ethan, begins to accept and learn to control the wolf within him and tries to find his way back to his love. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

She sat with her cards on the warm and soft Persian rug. The parlor was dark except for the roaring glow and heat of the lit fireplace behind her, it's harsh orange glow illuminating the shelves of dusty books around her, but offering her a peaceful feel within the wood-covered room.

She once again stared at and analyzed the cards laid out before her. A result of which she had never expected… Or intended. The only sounds that could be heard were that of the crackling fire and the barely audible snores of the little girl on the sofa, a very worn powder-blue blanket tucked beneath her little cleft chin, dark curls falling over her cheeks, forehead and shoulders.

She looked at the image of the young child and could barely believe her to be already five years old. Time had passed them by mercilessly and a part of her deeply regretted the long years and milestones missed. The other part of her regretted re-entering her short little life, the inevitable pain, trauma and quite possibly shame she could illicit on the child coming to mind. With Lucifer himself threatening to take her, witches and demons on her trail, vampires looming in the dark… She was no suitable person to be raising a child—especially this child—such a clever, pure and beautiful one.

A child who would be stigmatized enough for being the result of a torrid and unlawful love affair, the product of her own moments of sexual hysteria, jealousy and impulsive behavior. She had always been careless of people's judgments of her. She could not be as selfish and reckless to allow herself shadowing the girl's life with her sins. They were so, so many…

Yet, despite all of this, here she was, at the home of her childhood where her father's body in rigor mortis was kept in his bed upstairs, awaiting the wooden casket and the final destiny of every damned creature.

She knew how they looked at her—the servants, her father's lawyers and accountants, the distant relatives neighbors and business partners all coming in to pay their last respects to a man whose life had been uneventful and at the very least dull and unhappy.

The hours passed and she sat there, staring and staring, not moving an inch. Soon she could feel the sunrays invade the room through the tall windows and the warm fire diminish into a pile of gray ash.

Her body hurt but she wouldn't budge. There was nothing he had owed her, quite the opposite. He had taken responsibility for every single one of her dirty acts. He had taken in her child and adopted her as if his legitimate heir; educated and cultivated her, all the best toys, books, foods, nannies and clothing. He had written her at least once a month with news of her development and growing—the child had given him joy in his last days—a joy that she herself never had. Not once did she respond to those letters—so very difficult to read. He had never stopped sending them; relentless and stubborn till the very end.

She could tell the minute the little girl was awake. First she could hear her yawning and stretching her little limbs, rubbing and making sounds against the leather seat. And then she could feel it as she rose from her makeshift bed and slowly walked towards her, a small and warm hand coming to rest on the curve of her shoulder.

"You don't need to take me if you don't want to." She said with her voice resolute in a way that surprised the woman. "There is a boarding school in France… And I have lots of nannies."

"Do you want to go to boarding school?" Was the question that hoarsely escaped her lips, "I mean, for both of us, it would be the proper and wise thing to do—but wise and proper are not always ideal…"

"You are the adult Vanessa, you should decide."

"What if I am afraid of doing so, of making the wrong decision?"

"I don't know—I just rather be with you than alone with a hundred of angry nuns."

"Heloise, do you honestly know who I am?"

"You're my mum, even though you're not much of one."

"I'm sorry about that."

"It's fine."

"Is it really?"

"Well you are here now, aren't you?"

"I may disappoint you… My life is—extremely complicated. I'm not married, I live with my mother's former lover who is currently on his way to Africa; I'm in love with a wonderful man, who sometimes turns into a beast. I have all these bad spirits after me and the devil himself. I'm not fit to be a mother."

"I think that's for me to judge, though."

"Oh is it?"

"Yes. And as long as you don't make me play with dolls and eat soup, I'm happy." Vanessa smiled to herself. "And you're far better looking than Nanny Sheffield and Mrs. Tate."

"Hmm, thank you." The little girl, Heloise, looked into her mother's similar blue eyes and allowed her little armor to fall off. "I have always loved you. Always, all right?" Heloise nodded her head quickly and tears began to escape her eyes and a loud sob burst out of her trembling lips.

Vanessa pulled her tightly and warmly into her embrace and held her for a long time. Heloise's arms snaked around her neck and they clung together for dear life.

Vanessa Ives' life wasn't near as pretty and perfect as the one the devil had taunted her with—the perfect little life with the man of her dreams, legitimate, happy and unscarred children. However, the most important thing was here with her, her baby, her own tiny piece of family and of perfection.

"Please take me with you, mama." The little girl requested in between sobs.

"Always, Heloise. Always."


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you Scorpionmother for the very kind review!**

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Vanessa Ives fought the urge to giggle and open her eyes as she was awoken by tickles to her feet.

The person behind those little fingers that she counted every night now, had lately become her anchor in this life. Heloise came to bring her light, now she understood. At the time of her daughter's birth, she had been locked into her bedroom in the home of her parents and her mother had convinced everyone that Vanessa had been sent to a convent in France, to repent on her sins and find her way to God again, while she, Claire Ives, was miraculously expecting a second child.

Heloise had been born into a world containing a cold and cruel number of lies.

There was a storm the night her daughter was born. Because of the strong winds, muddy roads, lightning and heavy raining, the midwives nearly failed to arrive. There couldn't have been a more perfect occasion. It had been quick and easy, the next day she was on her feet, barely having held her child and was being sent in the middle of the night to the hospice her parents had thought fit for her to retreat to, with the purpose of curing Vanessa of her hysteria and so that no one would ever find out.

Milk streamed from her breasts and the pain killed her. The pain of her baby's absence inside of her, the pain of the torture they called a mental treatment, the pain of abandonment and humiliation. She could have hated them forever, her parents, but poor them—didn't know better. Couldn't think beyond a world of false appearances, social conventions, repressing customs and the pointless and undermining opinions of others such as they yearned to be.

And it felt almost unreal that she was here, on their little home on the moors, together as mother and daughter-and somewhat happy.

This wasn't a home with the comforts of the large and decorated mansion they had both been born and brought up in. But for certain, this was a home where they could run outside, do as they like, say what they want to say, without reprimanding eyes and hands of nannies, tutors and bitter German governesses.

Of course Heloise was a child and she had to do those things that her mother and caretakers had for a long time done with her: send her to bed, admonish her on the use of vulgar and bad language, tell her to take a bath, insist with her to go take a bath; tell her not to run where she couldn't see her and to never speak or go off with strangers, unaccompanied.

And Heloise was probably not the easiest child to be raising.

She was a little ball of fire and energy. She spoke whatever she felt like speaking. She had no use for cloth napkins or cutting knives while eating. She hated to comb her hair and fought to not have it cut. She couldn't see a piece of paper that imediately the entire house was littered with tiny cut-out pieces. She spoke loudly and her legs were constantly swinging out of anxiety. She had a much larger preference for adventure books and could care less about poetry. Heloise ran around in the limits of their garden, scared off all of the birds, climbed up on the roof, baked mud pies for lunch and for hours on end would speak to her imaginary friends Cissy, an old lady and Mimi, a talking purple cat.

Vanessa would smile and at the same time worry about her antics. She cooked and cleaned for double and every single day she had filthy stockings and skirts to wash. But she hadn't been this content in a while. Her daughter almost filled that little spot in her heart, that spot he had left empty with his departure.

Heloise loved her unconditionally, would no longer leave her for a minute-and that was good. Her child kept her company, occupied and made her feel an extension of feelings always changing that she could never have imagined. One moment she was laughing, another she was fuming in rage. In another moment, such as when Heloise learned to write her own name, she was filled with pride. And sometimes when Heloise was fast asleep, at her side on that tiny, tiny bed, she would cry in fear that somehow, those which were her greatest enemies could hurt her innocent little girl. But Heloise, couldn't ever mask the solitude she felt without Sembene, Sir Malcolm, Dr. Frankenstein and her Ethan most of all. They too were her family by now and in one way or another she felt in her heart that the family was disrupting and it was all her fault.

She missed Ethan like she had never missed anyother man. She thought of him constantly and this very cottage was where she had ultimately realized her feelings for him. This had been their little home and now he was missing. Dead or alive. In America or Russia or Spain. He was suffering and she was not there with him as he so many times had been with her.

"Mama, I'm hungry, the sun is out, get up!" Vanessa smiled, her eyelids fluttering open and meeting with the blue of her daughter's.

"Oh, but I'm tired!" She faked a yawn, her eyes twinkling with humor.

"I made you a gift..." Heloise said, the hand hidden behind her back revieling an unshapely package wrapped in old newspaper.

"Oh. Thank you, Heloise." Vanessa sat up and took it, unwrapping it carefully. Heloise smiled in delight as the box revealed a square piece of wood that had been painted on in white. A mother and her daughter. It certainly was not the most beautiful piece of art, but it certainly was the most precious gift Vanessa had ever received. "Thank you, my baby scorpion." Vanessa pulled Heloise into a tight hung and smothered her in kisses.

"I want you to be happy, mama... Just as I am happy now with you." And once again Vanessa's eyes filled with tears, but those of joy.


	3. Chapter 3

LONDON, 12 DAYS LATER…

After quite a bit of consideration, Heloise Ives decided she did not like the wicked glow in the eyes of the man her mother spoke to. It seemed that her mother wanted some serious information from him and he was playing games. Something she had learned from living for a month with her mother was that Ms. Ives wasn't much for games.

She watched from where she sat on the wooden chair at the entrance of the man's office. Inspector Rusk that rhymed with dusk, tusk and musk, not one word that she knew very well the meaning of.

It seemed like the time never really passed and as she sat back kicking her legs, she saw how her mother began to look quite angry, her cheeks turning red and her big eyes turning even bigger, in that very uncomfortable way. From her own experience, Heloise knew that the man wouldn't last long and soon they would be out of this building, hopefully on their way to grab a bite to eat.

Vanessa had grown sick of the man's twisted little grin and if it weren't for her daughter staring at her and the several policemen, she would have rung his neck or caused him any other form of severe and miserable pain. But God how she loathed him! Loathed him for thinking she could not force information out of his mouth, for underestimating her due to her gender and for calling out on her promiscuity. So by the force of her powers and of her rage, she slammed the doors of his bureau shut, as if caused by heavy wind and pushed him against the nearest wall. His eyes for just a moment widened and expressed surprise, even a bit of fear, but soon enough, that smugness he seemed to always carry was back and she oh-so hated him for it.

"Where is Mr. Ethan Chandler?!" She growled, her eyes locked on his. Mr. Rusk smiled that nasty little smile and pointed to the binder on top of his desk.

"Imprisoned and awaiting trial in his home country. I wonder how it must feel to be cornered by his persistent and wealthy father, his power seeking cousin and the bloodthirsty law system… Oh, but wait—" His tone of debauchery deeply annoyed her. "Bloodthirsty is he more than anyone. Is he not, Ms. Ives?"

"And if you do attempt to find him in New York, say, to bid him farewell, do search for him under his true name—Ethan Lawrence Talbot. Might be easier for you… It's a pity really, isn't it? That the only man willing to be with such a lovely and hopeless little whore is a beast waiting to be killed down. I would say, Ms. Ives, perhaps in the new lands you will find better luck?"

And that's when Vanessa pushed him onto his chair, whispered a few words that he did not know the origin or meaning of and stormed out of the room. Heloise hopped off of her chair, wide-eyed and followed her mother out.

Later that evening, when tickets were bought for their voyage to America and they lay in Vanessa's bed together in Grandage Place, Heloise's head resting on Vanessa's chest and Vanessa's hand tracing lines gently on her back, Inspector Rusk convulsed in the darkness of his office, tortured by an ever growing migraine and the pains of his sins passed. He was once again looked in the eyes by the beast that had tarred away at his arm and his anger only grew. Soon the image grew more and more vivid and he felt like it were ten years ago and he was being hunt down. He ran and ran across the room, bumping into and throwing things to the ground, his heart pounding on his chest and hot tears running down his cheek. He screamed for help and out of terror for the beast and everything Vanessa saw, lying in her bed with her sleeping child tucked next to her.

Five days later, inspector Rusk was submitted to the hospital where he was treated for several superficial wounds and submitted to a psychiatric hospital. And the next morning, Vanessa Ives packed hers and Heloise's belongings, wrote Sir Malcolm a very long letter for when he returned and cooked hers and Heloise's final dinner in London.

The Ives women arrived early at the docks, ready to go on the large steam ship that would transport them to New York. Vanessa looked around through the crowd, a hand firmly grasping the hand of her daughter and the other their two suitcases. Her eyes caught sight of feathery hats and furs and women at their husbands' arms.

"Ms. Ives, I was looking for you…" She heard his voice and she let out a breath she did not know she had been holding.

"Dr. Frankenstein!" She couldn't help but drop her luggage and hug him. He who had become the closest thing she ever had to a brother. "Thank you for coming."

He attempted a smile and nodded his head. The hollowness and deep scarlet of them concerned her as she knew his addiction had been getting worse. She hoped that during this 3 week trip, she could help him overcome it, at least a bit and that maybe he could give her that much needed support to go ahead with her crazy plans. But then he wasn't the most elusive of the three of them, there was still—

"Mr. Lyle! You came as well!"

"How could I not Ms. Ives? To abandon my dear new friends and allow our poor Mr. Chandler to suffer the horrors of incarceration so far away from us and all alone. Oh goodness, oh my! Who do we have here if not a little version of you Ms. Ives…" His smile was sincere and his charisma irresistible as Heloise opened up a smile.

"I'm Heloise."

"And I Ferdinand Lyle, young miss."

"Heloise is my daughter Mr. Lyle and Dr. Frankenstein."

"Well, I never suspected, but it's a pleasure to meet such a darling creature." Mr. Lyle said with a smile and a bow. "Young Ms. Ives, do you know anything of the wonders and mysteries of the river Nile…" Heloise grabbed his chubby hand and they all embarked on the trip to the unknown.

"If anyone asks doctor, you are my younger brother and I am but a poor widow."

"No wonder all the black." Vanessa chuckled and grabbed onto his arm. "I truly thank you for coming."

"And I thank you for saving me… At least for now."

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	4. Chapter 4

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Ethan sat in silence under the shade of the large oak tree, watching as the sun set in the distance, over the glistening lake.

He knew very well that from the window of the house behind him, she watched him, but he dared not to acknowledge her. The words she had furiously pronounced to him stung and rung in his ears, word by word, and he felt guilty and rotten. It had been his fault, he had been selfish and a downright coward. But couldn't she understand that he had left in order to protect them? But he also knew that Marie was right, that either way he had abandoned his family, his friends and ridden off to the then unknown lands of the East… to France, to England… As far away from them as possible. And hadn't acknowledged the fact that upon his departure—all hell broke loose in the lives of those he loved. He had been inconsequential.

And seven years had passed like a blink of the eye—and Celeste was no more because of him. He had loved Celeste, she had been his only friend apart from the Indians, she had been the one who made him love to read, to appreciate the small and insignificant things of life. Celeste had been his mother after his own died or disappeared or both. At this point it all summed up to the same thing. His mother was gone and had been for almost thirty years. And during those years, Celeste, red skinned, dark haired and eyed, had been his mother. The one who would teach him right from wrong, how to fend for himself, who knew all of his favorite foods and clothes and trinkets. Who taught him the name and use of each little herb and plant, the name of the creatures—those we could see and those we could not. She had taught him to love and respect the eagle… and Usen. Usen, who was the almighty creator of the Apaches.

She died because he left, it was his fault. She had already been an old lady and his father had tried to torture information out of her—information she did not have. And she died, deeply hurt, inside and out, all because he had left. He had broken her heart and for that he would never forgive himself. Another sin and deep regret added to his list.

In the ship, the knowledge of seeing his mother again after all those years was the only thing to keep his mind off of the woman he loved and left behind—freedom—but also the wrath of his father.

Marie was Celeste's daughter. Her other children, all sons, had been Apache warriors who had died honorably in the wars against the Mexicans—leaving behind widows and dozens of children.

Celeste was the only name of his Apache mother's that he knew. It was the name given to her by the Mexican priests and everyone (aside from her people) thought it more appropriate than her true name. She had never revealed it to him. But Marie, unlike Celeste, had that name and it only. She had been born on the property of the Talbot's and therefor it had been Ethan's father who had named her—and later on, disgraced her by taking her by force before she could participate in her coming-of-age rituals—before she could marry an Apache.

And Marie stayed with Celeste until the very end, at the property, and never married or made loved to a man again. She had disrupted nature—hadn't given birth to a child—but Marie was the closest thing Ethan ever had to a sister.

And that's why Marie's words hurt so much. She had blamed him for the suffering and death of their mother and in extension, her own unending pain. He had once, a little boy, promised to Marie that he would never hurt her as his father had done. Ethan broke his promise.

He could feel her light steps approaching, crushing the grass and dry leaves beneath her feet. Wherever she went Marie's scent of wildflowers and sunshine made way for her. He couldn't dare look at her as she stopped next to him and for a moment admired the resting of the sun. She let out a heavy sigh and sat on the ground with him.

"It was much easier to blame you for all of my pain, because the true cause of it comes from a person so strong and so cruel to me, that I would rather avoid his presence—and the very thought of him. You're my little brother, Ethan, always will be. Mother loved you more than the moon and stars, she loved you beyond words. You weren't the one responsible for her pain and death—your father was—and for that one day he shall pay. Usen will properly punish him. Mother always knew that you would one day leave us—for the better or the worse. She knew that one day the curse would fall upon you and none of us would have a choice. I never wanted to believe it, that my brother would transform himself into a terrible beast, hurting others, but most of all, that he would leave and not take us with him."

"But in some way it was my fault."

"Listen, you need to return to England. You have nothing here anymore—your father is now dead, all the bad in the world caused by him has been avenged. Mama has been avenged. Your home isn't here anymore and we both know it. Home is in England, or wherever that woman who has your heart is. I saw her in a dream and mother also saw her. The woman with the blue eyes."

Ethan couldn't help but smile at this.

"And you know it won't take long before everyone finds out what happened and they come after you—the police and the army men. You should leave right after the full moon. I will make you an amulet tonight, of silver, so that you can have more control."

"How do I thank you, Marie?" She shrugged. "By looking into my eyes for once."

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	5. Chapter 5

**A huge and warm thank you to Scorpionmother, MusketeerAdventure and for the reviews!**

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Marie handed him the final pile of crisp clean and pressed shirts and he stacked them inside the leather suitcase. Yesterday he had devoured a considerable amount of bears and slaughtered another considerable amount of deer. All that was left to do now was wait. Wait until the amulet was ready and wait until the documents that read Ethan as the heir of the entire property were analyzed by Mr. Meacham, his father's long time attorney.

The corpse of Mr. Frederick Lawrence Talbot lay in a deep pit in the middle of a corn plantation, in the middle of a labyrinth where no one would be able to find him—not while the workers and the Indians kept their promise. Ethan planned to divide the land equally and let each one have their own, build their homes, raise their families. A small token for their loyalty and a nearly insignificant compensation for their lives' works under such authoritarian and precarious an administrator. And Marie would get the house—sell it or burn it or live in it—she deserved much more, but at the moment it was all that her brother could give her.

"Listen little brother, you will need money, nice clothes and nice shoes for the crossing. No one will recognize you as who you are if you are dressed to the nines. They will think you're just another cotton baron from the south. It's a good thing your beard is longer and fuller, it is good for hiding better your face." Ethan nodded and looked down into his sister's eyes.

Marie was short and rather full, but there was no skin smoother and shinier than her. She was now in her forties and a few strands of gray began to appear amidst the midnight black of her locks… that stretched well past her waist. But she either braided it or kept it up—such length of hair could be a nuisance in the heat of this state. Her dress was rose colored, with lace on the edge of the three quarter sleeves. She wore no corset, no brassiere, nothing. Marie liked nothing refraining her—the clothes were a mere mirror of her persona.

"Marie—have you ever thought of returning to your tribe?" She shook her head.

"My tribe is here, Ethan. I'm not sure if it's good or bad, but it's a certainty I have. I'm not a white woman but I'm also not entirely an Apache. In truth I know not what I am and all my life I have been stuck in the middle of a crossroads—of customs, of language, of everything. If I were to return to my tribe, I would not be an Apache woman but a foreigner, a half-white woman. Here among you whites, I am a colored and primitive woman. I shall die this way such as you shall die a man and also a wolf." Ethan didn't say a word as he sealed his suitcase shut and sighed, looking outside the window of his boyhood room.

"It never stops hurting, does it, to be half something and half another. We never truly are capable of feeling that we belong."

"Well—for most people it's that way, but for you it is not. You belonged in England with her, don't lie to yourself. She was half-light and half-darkness, just like you. You are blessed and fortunate my brother, be forever thankful."

Ethan nodded, trying to keep tears from falling. Once again he was leaving—he was leaving his last family for good this time. He felt eager to be back in London, to be back with Vanessa and tell her how stupid and reckless he was—how he should have just stayed with her, made love to her and should have tried to move on with her guidance and support. The other part of him, the brother part, felt a hopeless agony a sort of anxiety mixed with nausea and a restlessness that made it difficult to know if this was the pain of departure or pure and utter loneliness.

He had been lonely on the ship, on the train ride and the carriage ride here. He had been lonely because he chose to be, for he refused to consider inspector Rusk company—much less a pleasant one. And he hadn't been completely lonely because along the way he spoke to Celeste in his mind—all he had to do was close his eyes. And now she was gone. She had disappeared from this earth and disappeared from his mind.

What he felt now was despair—Celeste wouldn't be there, Marie wouldn't be there, not even Rusk would be there. He would be with himself and him alone and for some reason he dreaded that more than anything in the world.

"Don't worry brother, I'll join you in a while. Someone has to take care of all of those workers—and this house. I too cannot stand to be so alone." Her hands moved to caress both sides of his face, tender black eyes looking into his brown ones. "You are my brother. You are my friend. You are courageous. You are strong. You are protected. You are protection. You are wisdom. And you are love." Ethan could feel his skin tingle beneath Marie's fingers and soon his entire body was taken by that sensation.

It was both a pleasuring thing as well as it burned him from the inside out. He could hear Marie whisper rapidly in her sacred language and begin to sing in a high pitched voice. It wasn't words but different sounds and the temperature of his skin rose with every second. Her hands slid from his cheeks down his shoulders and up again repeatedly. She let go of him and began circling him around the room, dancing and chanting. Her singing became louder and louder as she began too dance even quicker and in more intense manner. The speed with which she moved her body and head made her hair fall down her shoulders and swing from side to side, the rays of the moon reflecting on her dark hair and skin. At the height of the ritual, the force of the power with which Marie meddled, made her fall onto the floor, her hands keeping her from hitting her head. She breathed heavily and rapidly. She wasn't anymore Marie as somehow he knew another had crept into her body.

Very soon she began to rise from the floor and stand in front of Ethan. Slowly the thing circled around him, eyes locked on each other and soon he heard a once familiar voice.

"My son, I'm finally free. My son, you should free yourself too. Embrace the beast and embrace yourself, be kind. I love you, my son." And then a cold wind hit his skin, eliciting from him shivers everywhere. He held his breath in nervously as he knew that once again the spirits shifted. "Ethan—Ethan where are you? Where are you Ethan, I'm on my way. I'm on my way, I'm on my way." He could recognize that husky voice and that accent from anywhere.

His heart raced in his chest and his cheeks became hot from the painfully wonderful knowledge that he had heard her voice—the one that belonged to the woman he most desired and loved in the world.

"V-Vanessa… Vanessa I'm in New Mexico, I'm leaving. I'm leaving early tomorrow. I'm coming home to you Vanessa!" He shouted, hoping with all he had that she could hear him too.

Before he knew it, Ethan felt his body going limp and everything darken around him.

-/-

Thousands of miles away in the middle of the vast and black ocean, a one Corinthia Burton, hair golden and shiny like that of an angel, sat reading the cards for an astonished Vanessa Ives across from her.

"The spirits have delivered, Ms. Ives." She whispered gravely, a hint of a smile gracing her rosy lips.

"Thank you, my kindred spirit." Was the only answer as Vanessa's hands held those of the woman before her. She looked behind her at the peacefully sleeping form of her daughter, sprawled on the large canopy bed.

"We must help each other or who else will?" was the answer. "Your daughter, I can tell, will be following your footsteps, my friend. Prepare her well."

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	6. Chapter 6

It was their twelfth evening on the ship and Heloise watched intently as Mr. Lyle ceremoniously dealt with his hair, sitting in front of a vanity mirror. She knew that the doctor was next door in his bed, he was ill, mother said. Sometimes the back in forth rocking of the sea made some people sick. The doctor wasn't the type who spoke a lot. He was shy and sometimes, the simplest of things would turn his cheeks pink. But yesterday he had smiled as Heloise had sat with him on his bed and allowed him to read Shakespeare to her. Shakespeare was a rather funny name.

"My dearest Heloise," Mr. Lyle said, turning towards her with a large smile and sparkly eyes. Heloise liked the way he gracefully and dramatically moved his hands in the air. They were pink, plump and soft. "Where were we in the tale of the goddess Isis?"

Heloise smiled and stopped to think for a moment. A half-second later, she shot up her finger and jumped from the bed, running straight to the man's lap. "She was gathering her husband's pieces." Mr. Lyle nodded and proceeded to tell her in vivid and flourished detail, the myth of the deity. With Mr. Lyle, Heloise would travel the turbulent waters of the Nile, under the brightness and scorching warmness of the Egyptian sun—passing the imposing pyramids and ruins of temples and palaces, crocodiles and long-legged birds, papyri growing at the banks of the river. Everything would be bright green and would fill one's eyes.

The dreams of Egypt were far more entertaining than the gray, hopeless and crowded streets of London. Or even mother and Heloise's little home at the Moors. Heloise wished she could one day adventure herself through Egypt and be an explorer such as her mother's friend Sir Malcolm and study that marvelous ancient civilization such as Mr. Lyle did.

Ferdinand Lyle held his utmost curious travel companion as if she were the most precious of discoveries—and indeed, she was. Never had he enjoyed the company of a child so much.

"Now, now dearest child. It's getting to be far too late and we must get headed for dinner. I'm sure your mother is there already with that mysterious lady… what was her name?"

"Ms. Burton. She came into our room last night and laid out the cards for my mum, they talked for hours in whispers, I gave up trying to listen and fell asleep." Heloise's tiny fingers tangled between the soft hairs of his beard. Heloise had a small frown on her face and through her eyes Lyle could sense that she was rather distant-lost in her childlike thoughts. "Ms. Burton is very pretty..."

"Are you afraid of the cards Heloise?" He asked in pure curiosity and a small bit of worry. Perhaps she was too young and innocent to be in presence of such objects of divination. Lyle would hate to see Heloise suffering as did her mother.

Heloise pondered for a moment and shook her head.

"Mother says that some people are born with the gift to read them and that others—women only—can come to acquire it. She said that the cards sometimes help us to see things more clearly and help us get into touch with our deepest feelings and thoughts. The feelings that are so deep that sometimes we don't notice. But it only works for seeing the fortune of others and that's why she asked Mrs. Burton to read the cards for her."

Mr. Lyle nodded in understanding and signaled for her to lead the way towards the fancy dining hall where they would have their meal.

…

Vanessa looked stunning in a silk dark blue gown, her dark locks curled and held up by silver pins. Her eyes were locked intensely on the lit candle in the middle of the table reserved for them—but Heloise knew very well that her mother's thoughts were elsewhere and that she seemed rather… sad.

"Mama, Mr. Lyle was telling me the story of the goddess Isis! Her husband was cut in lots and lots of pieces and each of the pieces was hidden." Vanessa smiled slightly and kissed her daughter on the temple.

"That sounds—rather strange, but exciting. Are you hungry already?" Heloise shrugged and sat down next to her.

"And Dr. Frankenstein?" Lyle glanced at the woman worriedly.

"Fed and asleep—he's recovering Mr. Lyle, hopefully tomorrow he shall dine here with us. Thank you once again for watching Heloise while I engaged with Ms. Burton."

"If you don't mind me asking—who is she to you?" Vanessa toyed with the silverware and looked at him with a more serious demeanor.

"Corinthia is such as I—a woman with certain abilities."

"Such as Ms. Poole was as well?" Vanessa nodded.

"But without the those connections and intentions. She runs a gentlemen's club in New York—It's where she and her ladies live." Mr. Lyle immediately got the connection. Corinthia Burton was the leader of a brothel.

"And how is that majorly important?"

"Every wealthy man who is passing through London, spends a night or two there. She has connections and knows names… It's how I plan on finding Ethan." Mr. Lyle nodded.

"But wasn't he from the wild west and such?" Vanessa nodded.

"New Mexico—but he's leaving there soon. I was able to commune with him through Corinthia."

"And you trust her?"

"I do." Vanessa cut her eye contact with Mr. Lyle and looked at her daughter who was drawing on a page Vanessa had brought her. Heloise was drawing pyramids and a river that she presumed was the Nile. "Soon she'll want to be an Egyptologist such as you, Mr. Lyle…" She smiled at him genuinely and his cheeks turned pink.

"I would love to have her as my young apprentice."

…

Corinthia and Vanessa lay together on Vanessa's bed, her golden hair sprawled on the pillow contrasting with the raven curls of her newest friend. Heloise was fast asleep between them and after a long moment of companionable silence, Corinthia spoke:

"I admire you Vanessa. You love so intensely and so faithfully—you're crossing the ocean after an otherwise doomed man, you're risking your life and your daughter's, you left behind your home. You are very strong—if I had half of the strength and drive that you do, my life would be very different—I probably wouldn't be so skeptical of love and feelings in general—I probably would have gone through with my marriage, I wouldn't have left my son. Love is an amazing and powerful thing… Isn't it?"

"It hurts—like you're constantly in flames, but, it hurts less when we are with our loved one."

"Did you make love?" Vanessa shook her head and chuckled. "Chaste love—even better. Those flames you feel are lust and desire, my darling… How long has it been? You could explode you know!"

The two of them laughed whole-heartedly—the only time Vanessa had ever been so carefree was when she was a young girl with Mina and that time on the Moors with Ethan. Corinthia was her friend and it was good to have one that was a woman also—with whom she could share her silliest of thoughts, her desires, her fears… Corinthia was like her new Mina—and it also deeply scared her.

"Is it silly that I'll only feel completely safe and happy when I'm in his arms again?"

"You mean right after you shout at him and give him hell for leaving you and making you go through this entire odyssey." Vanessa threw her head back and laughed so hard her cheeks turned a bright crimson.

"Right after."

"And Heloise in the middle of this?" Vanessa sighed and shrugged.

"He won't be able to resist us Ives women—I'll give you that."


	7. Chapter 7

Marie sat on the chair next to his bed for what seemed like days. She had much to do around the house—cleaning, organizing, advising the cook on today's meals. But instead she sat there, ankles crossed and poised hands resting on her lap.

Sometimes Marie simply could not control the urges of the Great Spirit upon her body. Her mother, Celeste, had once said that she was God's vessel… but all her life Marie had felt this to be a curse—only the shamans could be so. She was no learned or experienced woman in the matters of her people.

She watched her dear little brother sleeping. The sleep of the innocent as was just. He was now free to control the beast within him, but Marie knew that whether he liked it or not Ethan would have to learn to control his voracious animalistic instincts—a day would come that he would have to make use of God's gift to him. And beyond the amulet and spells she had done for him, there was nothing else she could do but give him her unconditional love and support.

Marie saw him move on the bed, in no time his light brown eyes would open, still hazy from sleep. So before he saw her first, instead of the glowing vision of his beloved, she quietly slipped out of the room and went on with her daily chores. His belongings were packed and by the door. He would have breakfast, they would bid each other farewell—for now—and then he would leave for the train station. And Marie would cry, but while chopping the onions for supper, because she never deliberately cried.

Yes, that sounded like a good enough plan. She wouldn't last in this plantation for too long anyway—what southern white man could accept an Indian woman, unmarried, non-Christian to administrate on her own an enterprise this important? Marie would be lucky to come out alive. Her brother simply did not need to know any of this—Ethan was finally going home and Marie honestly hoped that he would never look back.

…

Vanessa Ives was glad that she had finally succeeded in getting her dear Dr. Frankenstein out of his room on the ship. He continued as pale as ever, but those deep and black circles under his eyes—they were gone. He'd gained some much needed weight and with clean clothing, appeared at the corridor as a dashing bachelor—and now even his social awkwardness seemed charming. She smiled, satisfied. New York was but a few hours away—even the air on the ship seemed different, she felt different.

There was a sort of electricity in the air, Vanessa felt as though butterflies were constantly fluttering about in her belly, as if she could not breathe in joyous anticipation. She would step on land again; she would be closer, much closer to Ethan. In no time she would be in his arms and all of this anguish and fear that she carried constantly with her would dissipate and only love would be left.

"I suppose I should become acquainted with this ship before we disembark early in the morning…" Victor said, always the formal gentleman. Vanessa smiled and hooked her arm onto that of her friend and showed him around the ballroom, the grandiose restaurant where workers set the tables and the band rehearsed.

They went up on deck and watched the waves of the ocean crashing on the steel and seemingly indestructible shell of their ship. They watched the people, coming and going, all impeccable, wearing their best clothes and hats, just as anxious as Vanessa and Victor to reach their destination. The friends sat in companionable silence on the deck chairs. There was no need for words. Vanessa knew of his gratitude—for bringing him, for helping him. Victor fled from something, she was very much aware, but unless he told her, she would never press on the subject. She and Victor were twins in that way. They had chosen solitude…

But now Vanessa was choosing love—love for Ethan, love for her daughter—and although love was a path of great sorrow—poetry the proof of it—it was a path that Vanessa was now prepared to walk on.

Sooner or later, she hoped that it would be the same for him.

Vanessa hadn't expected it, his nimble, ever clean hands, reaching softly, unhesitating for hers—a cold hand meeting the other, warming one another. She looked at him and smiled, lovingly, wishing him all of the good things in the world.

…

That night Heloise Ives threw her first temper tantrum. She hadn't wanted to bathe and upon Vanessa forcing her to, again at bedtime she had fought against her sleep, refused to climb the bed, to put on her sleeping gown, to comb her hair, to say the prayers Vanessa had taught her.

Heloise had turned red in rage, thrown things on the floor and yelled in frustration and Vanessa, she had stayed calm and resolute, but deep inside, she honestly wanted to cry herself because this thing—motherhood—it was the most difficult thing she had ever been through. Her life wasn't the one at play, Heloise's was.

So as her daughter cried in frustration and called her names, she pulled her against her even though Heloise's kicks and punches hurt, even though her hair, being pulled was painful. She held her and rocked her back and forth, as if she were still an infant, until exhausted Heloise fell asleep.

And she loved this child so, so much. Words simply could not convey.

…

Ethan was finally on the train, on his way to New York. He stared up at the night sky from the window. Could it be that she was looking up too?

…

Vanessa Ives did not sleep that night. She lay on the bed with Heloise heavily asleep next to her, until, it seemed—she felt an urge to look at the sky, see the many constellations painting the heavens. Up on the deck, the cold wind of the sea hitting her cheeks forcefully and blowing her hair forcefully, she let out that sob she's been holding in for so long.

Being strong was tiring, but loving also was.

Vanessa wished he were here, leaving the candles lit, kissing her goodnight just as she did her child and washing all of her fears away. Tomorrow was a new day.


	8. Chapter 8

He held on to the amulet his sister had made him. It had taken him a week to arrive in the bustling city of New York and for three days now he wandered the streets of the city asking, looking for her. Ethan didn't have a single clue and grew more and more aware of the dangers he was going through, by remaining in American soil, soil that did not want him. By now a message from the Albuquerque police would have arrived in the police departments of it's north-eastern counterparts... And it was a fact that the New York police had quickly become the most quick and efficient in the world.

He wandered through the central park, the sky was lavender, orange and pink shades-the sun was setting. The air was cool, pleasantly so and the shades of the trees tranquilized him. He thought of her-the woman he loved, Vanessa Ives, for the millionth time-he thought of how she had confided in him her hatred of trees-the very reminders of the death of her mentor and friend. It would be more than ironic to find her in a place such as this one, sitting with her black lace dresses on a bench and watching the children play in the distance-as in London she often did.

No doubt Vanessa would smile or laugh to herself over the different expressions and vocabularies of the New-yorkers. Ethan could easily imagine her wandering through the numerous bookshops and reading the local papers, marvelling at the different sights and attractions. He would've liked to have seen her expression, arriving on her ship and seeing the beautiful and welcoming image of justice-the flame of freedom held up high on the statue of Liberty-facing the world. The only time Ethan had seen her she'd been bidding him goodbye-this place isn't for you, my lad.

Ethan stopped in front of a large clearing, a fountain surrounded by perfectly manicured flowers right in the center. Benches circled it all around and he was compelled to through in a copper penny himself. He wished he could find her. He wished he could go home.

He watched as the penny fell into the clear water and drowned, landing on top of many others. For how long he stood there, was beyond him. Fact was, when Ethan had his thoughts interrupted by a familiar voice and then the quick-passing vision of impeccable blond hair, it was if bells chimed inside of him as loud and furiously as they could. He had heard the voice of a friend and maybe, just maybe, the smiling and plump figure of Mr. Ferdinand Lyle could direct him to her.

Ethan walked over to the man who had his back to him and nudged his shoulder.

Ethan watched the Egyptologist's expression of sheer surprise open into a large smile, his cheeks turning a bright shade of pink and his cheekbones shining.

"Oh my dear Mr. Chandler! Finally, finally we have found you in this utmost crowded city!" Mr. Lyle nearly leaned in to give Ethan a hug but thought it better to simply shake the American's hand eagerly. "Oh, Ms. Ives will be delighted to see you again-" Lyle leaned in and whispered, "she is with Ms. Corinthia Burton at the moment."

"Corinthia Burton America's finest Madame?" Lyle nodded earnestly.

"Indeed. She's a lovely person, Ms. Burton, despite her dubious line of work. Dr. Frankenstein was the one who kindly accompanied little Ms. Ives and I to this lovely park. They should be here in no time-had gone off to find a bit to eat."

"Little Ms. Ives?" Ethan was no longer smiling, but his brows were furrowed in pure and utter confusion. He watched as Lyle's smile faltered and he suddenly paled.

"Oh heavens, you did not know, did you. Oh, my..." He ran his chubby hand through his impeccable hair and frowned.

"Who's little Ms. Ives? How is Vanessa across town with Corinthia Burton if she's on her way with Frankenstein? Since when is she little? That's not appealing at all..." Ethan questioned, becoming more than just exasperated. Suddenly it hit him that months and months had passed since he'd last seen Vanessa Ives... nearly a year to be honest. A lot can happen in that period of time. Babies of another man were the first thing that flooded his mind.

"She's, she's a little girl. A lovely child who-" Ives was interrupted by the blunt impact of a little girl running towards him and wrapping her little arms around his figure.

"Mr. Lyle-we found chocolate!" She smiled brightly, dark curls crowning her face and escaping her satin ribbon. She had large, owl-like blue eyes and thick dark eyebrows that made her all the more remind Ethan of Ms. Ives-the taller one.

And suddenly it dawned him. Ms. Ives was this girl's mother.

He observed the child as if she were the most incredible and precious artifact. He watched in awe and amazement as the way she spoke and the expressions she mad all resembled-and greatly-the very woman Ethan loved... Although being a child, this little Ms. Ives was much more open and talkative. And she talked.

"Ms. Ives," he heard Mr. Lyle interrupt her, "Heloise, this is Mr. Ethan Chandler-he's the reason why we came on this great adventure."

Her eyes widened and settled on him. The way she scrutinized him with her gaze was unabashed and of pure wonder. She had to look up to see his face, his eyes-a colossal figure compared to her child's form.

"Oh." Her blue eyes shone in recognition and she smiled, impulsively grabbing onto Ethan's much larger hand. "My mum's been looking for you everywhere..." She giggled and arched just a single brow as her mother sometimes did. "Is it true you were a cowboy?"

"Well-not exactly-but I know quite a few of those..." Ethan couldn't very well explain it, how simply natural it felt, her little hand in his. How unlike anyone he'd ever met before, this child, this little girl-he already loved her so.

"Would you like some chocolate. The doc doesn't... He likes almost nothing..." Ethan and Mr. Lyle chuckled.

"Wait a minute-young Ms. Ives, where is Dr. Frankenstein?"

"I think he's lost me again." Mr. Lyle shook his head in dismay, but still couldn't admonish her.

"That poor man will have a heart attack soon if you continue to disappear like that! Before we leave we must find poor Dr. Frankenstein. Oh Heloise, you naughty, naughty girl..."

...

Ethan couldn't help but smile at the thought of a small child outsmarting the doctor-three times. Still, the expression on Victor's face as they spotted him straight ahead was priceless. You could see how desperate he was and how he was probably envisioning the ways Vanessa Ives could torture him for her child's disappearance.

"Heloise!" Victor ran franctically towards them. He looked different to Ethan-a good kind of different. The marks of his addiction were nearly invisible and he seemed healthier. Ethan was glad. They hadn't much of a friendship, he and the doctor, but the respect was there and Ethan was glad of seeing him after so long and so well. "I thought I had lost you! Do not dare to do that to me again or I swear that I shall tell Ms. Ives. Why do children have to be so childish and irrational!"

Heloise just furrowed her brow and looked at Victor smuggly.

"You're just upset that you are such a bad nanny."

"Well I'm not your nanny, thank heavens-I pity the woman who will take up the job."

"I don't need one." Victor rolled his eyes. And then he noticed Ethan.

"Mr. Chandler!" Frankenstein couldn't quite find the words to express his astonishment.

"Was the little girl causin' you problems, doc?" The two shook hands and for the first time since Ethan first met Dr. Frankenstein, he saw him smile.

"It's very good to see you again."

...

Vanessa sat in her room trying to read the cards spread out before her. Corinthia said that the time was coming-but the anxiety killed her inside. Again she had wandered the city today looking for Ethan. The train station, the hospitals, the post-office, the comercial areas... To be honest she was exhausted-physically and emotionally so.

Tomorrow is another day had very much become her motto. All the time she would repeat it in her mind as one would a mantra. They were so close, he and she, yet it seemed like more than an ocean apart.

She heard the doorknob turning and her eyes darted to the door. As it slowly opened, Vanessa's heart pounded quickly and strongly in her chest.

As handsome as ever but with his hair a lot shorter, she watched him come inside. Heloise pushed the door wider and came between them.

"Look who I found!" She smiled and Vanessa's eyes began to fill with tears. Her lips and hands trembled with the sheer strength of her emotion.

She allowed for Heloise to pull her up and as she stood in front of her, for the first time in a longtime-it felt unreal but also empowering.

"Vanessa-I-I'm so sorry..." He whispered, his eyes pleading with her. She shook her head, tears now falling freely and rolling down her cheeks-her face puffy and red. She threw herself into his arms and stayed there, allowing him to hold her as well-tightly.

Ethan was home again and never wanted to let go.

"Don't you ever leave me again..." She mumbled in between sobs. He took in the softness of her skin, the delicious scent of her perfume and hair... the beat of her heart against his. How could he ever been able to leave?

"Never again, Vanessa..." he promised, whispering in her ear.

* * *

 **I would like to thank all of you who have read this story so far, those who have favorited, followed and gifted me with such wonderful and motivating reviews. This story is a chapter away from it's ending and along with you all, I'm also saying goodbye to it. My lovely OC, Heloise Ives and this romance I built with so much thought and care... I honestly hope this has been just a good ride for you, my readers, as it has been an amazing one for me.**

 **Lots and lots of love,**

 **Theda**


	9. Chapter 9

**So here this story ends... for now.**

* * *

That night as Ethan and Vanessa lay together on her large and soft bed, the moonlight, illuminating the hotel bedroom and their bare and sated bodies, they held each other and he whispered into her ear his own odyssey—weaving for her the tale of his life, leaving nothing out.

It had all started with a child—a child who had been born of love—a forbidden love. In an ideal world, no such thing should ever be forsaken.

A beautiful Golden haired lady with big brown eyes and alabaster skin, White-lace gloves and matching lace parasol—one afternoon wandered through the enormous property of her new husband. The wind blew rather strongly and seemed to howl around her—it tugged on her dress and pulled on her hair as if guiding her through the infinite fields. Before she knew it, the sky was a deep sapphire blue and a giant, glowing and full moon, lit her path towards the river stream. Her steps lead her to a place beyond the property boundaries—she was entranced by the beauty of it. Never had she felt so free and surprisingly unafraid.

Laying on the largest stone she had ever seen by the banks of the river, gazing above at the skies was a man, strong and robust, dark silky hair and a red shade of skin rust-like. Never had she seen eyes so dark and yet so bright. She slowly approached him, only now did her Catholic education and morals begin to kick in. For a moment she hesitated and even felt a bit of fear. But he slowly sat up, stretching his welcoming arms towards her, as if welcoming her home.

She bravely grabbed onto his hands and climbed up the rock with him, not caring that the hem of her dress was all dark, damp and ruined from mud or that the stream of water had taken her expensive parasol away to places unknown. She had never felt so powerful and sure of herself as in this moment, surrounded by nature no one but them to be seen—Paradise this was and they Adam and his beloved Eve—before the existence of sin.

He wasn't a young man—he had at the very least forty springs on his shoulders and she was like a delicate butterfly, a golden goddess of light and sun, soft hands tracing the lines on his face, the scars on his forehead, adoring the midnight of his hair. He wrapped his large and firm hands around her their eyes locking for the very first time. He had never quite loved a woman, not even of his kind, as he had loved that silent, anonymous creature.

She had gently, shyly pressed her lips to his. He had never done such a thing in his life. A kiss, she called it and once again their lips met and soon their tongues. He had never known that one could feel so many unnamable emotions through the simple interlude of tongues, the melding of mouths. Soon he kissed her entire naked body, the white of her skin glowing and not just because of the moonlight. And he gently lay on top of her and never had she felt so much pleasure in her life—probably never would again. They kissed many times again as they traced and memorized every inch of each other—the scent of lavender and jasmine in the curve of her neck, in the valley of her bare breasts.

The gods of the night, of love and all things living blessed their union. They were married in the eyes and realm of the great-spirit Usen—married even if just for a single night.

They had bid each other goodbye as the sun's first rays of light began to appear again in the sky—he didn't understand a word that she said and she hoped to God that just by the look of her eyes he would know just how much she loved him—how she never would forget him.

"And let it be eternal while it lasts." Had been her words to the man. The words that Ethan repeated now to his raven haired beloved. Her blue eyes intent, attention clinging to his every word. "Those were my mother's last words to me before she disappeared… or died, I'll never know. He was killed and beheaded the following day by my father's men. A trespasser they said, but more than that, the animal who had sinned on an immaculate white woman. There was nothing they both could have done."

The moonlit lover's head had sat in front of the Talbot home until the child had been born, strong cries and kicks on a full moon. A fast and easy birth—perfect—just as the conception had been.

"So that man was your father…" Ethan nodded. "Much like Sir Malcolm is mine—albeit reluctantly." For a moment a hint of sorrow appeared in her eyes. He tucked some of her hair behind her ear.

"Have you always known?" She nodded, wordlessly. "Well, you'd have to be blind, huh? You look and act a lot like him—the eyes and the chin—not that I've ever seen your mother to be sure." Vanessa threw back her head on the cushion staring up at the ceiling—trying both not to laugh and cry. She didn't want to risk waking Heloise, fast asleep on the smaller and makeshift bed at the foot of theirs.

"And he tortured you all through your life didn't he—with his harsh words and heavy hands?" There was no need for him to answer—she knew very well.

"Is he dead?" Ethan nodded.

"Not my doing though—old man was sick and battered. Got what he deserved you know—ending his days tied to a bed, thin and frail—shitting in his pants. I couldn't have done it better."

"And what of your other mother, Celeste?" Ethan's eyes immediately fell and she knew that this was a painful topic—the only true mother he ever knew was gone.

"Gone as well."

"And Marie, your sister, is the one who allowed for us to communicate?" Ethan nodded.

"She inherited shaman powers that to her are complete mysteries. The shamans are always men—the oldest and wisest of the tribe. Not young women who barely ever stepped foot in one—that's what she believes anyway. Marie insisted on staying behind—I left it all to her."

"Perhaps she should have accompanied you here…" Vanessa trailed off. Just by the tone of her voice, he knew that she felt something—she sensed that his sister could be in trouble.

"What do you see?" Vanessa's eyes locked again with his.

"They're going to kill her Ethan, no unwed Indian woman can be the proprietor of a white man's land. I believe those were her words." Ethan's eyes closed in pain—tears pooling in his eyes. But Vanessa was there, to hold him, to protect him as well, why not, as he suffered. Loss after loss after loss.

…

Their lips met seeking pleasure and comfort once again, hands exploring and touching one another—moans difficult to contain. Waves and waves of the best sensations of life.

They fell asleep as the sun began to rise, his head pillowed on her shoulder, the rhythmic pumping of her heart like a sweet and calming lullaby to his ears. She cherished the warmth of him, how when his skin met hers it seemed as though she caught on fire—a fire though, that was ardent but did not hurt.

Vanessa hoped that everything would be all right—that her cursed vision was an erroneous forecast—that Ethan's sister was all right and that she would properly be able to bless their union—their love.

She could barely believe it. Peace had arrived again to her heart—but a sort of peace that made her secure of his presence, that he would always remain by her side, that he would always be there to protect her and she him. Now, the confusion of feelings, emotions and bouts of energy that passed through her just by his very presence a simple glance or touch—none of that brought her peace, but unending desire and passion. She felt completely alive in his presence—the very best version of herself.

She watched intently and discretely as her daughter stirred in her bed, until half asleep and dark curls all over the place she hopped on to the larger bed and clumsily nestled herself between Vanessa and him.

Asleep, but in no doubt a natural reflex, Ethan's arm protectively wrapped around the little girl, his fingers brushing on Vanessa's waist.

"I hope to God she doesn't get used to it." He mumbled almost incoherently in his sleep and Vanessa smiled, a happy tear escaping her eye. In no time she too wrapped herself further into them and fell asleep—a little family, cuddled together.

She prayed to God that this would never end.

THE END

* * *

 **Well, I'm sorry for the long delay. Sometimes inspiration escapes us. I hope you enjoyed this story and I look forward to reading your feedback on it.**

 **Thank you once again for taking part in the "odyssey" of this story with me.**

 **-Theda**


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